He passed by Graceland Cemetery, again. This time he was older and on his own. He was a fifth grader wearing a Catholic school uniform. Back then, he wore a white button down shirt and navy blue pants. It was Wednesday and he was heading to the comic book store because all the new issues came out on Wednesday and he wanted to check out the artwork, more than the story.
James rode his bike down the cracked sidewalk on the way to the comic book store. At the same time, he ran his hand along the black gate of the cemetery.
Suddenly, James heard something, that he could not ignore. He heard singing. The melodic voices that he heard felt like an alarm. The whole thing sent a shiver, up and down his spine. He skidded to a stop and listened.
At first he thought that the voices were coming from the candy shop across the street. The front door of "Nut's on Clarke" was wide open. He stepped closer in the direction of the candy shop and the singing seemed farther away. Then, he stepped closer toward the cemetery and the singing was louder. He looked across the field of tombstones and made sure that the cemetery was empty. It was. But, he still heard the singing, as if a group of children were inside. He placed his ear to the gate and paid close attention to the song they sang.
Ring Around The Rosie...A Pocket Full Of Posies...Ashes To Ashes...We All Fall Down.
It was the first time James paid attention to the voices on the other side of the cemetery gate. He stared inside the cemetery and saw no one inside. It was empty. Then, he imagined the children holding hands and skipping in circles over their own graves.
James shook his head in bewilderment. It can't be, he said to himself. Fright by what he heard, he jumped on his bicycle and peddled away. The farther away he went the quieter the song became.
Did you ever find out who those kids were singing in the cemetery, She asked.
Yes. Everyone did. It was a terrible disaster caused by a very disturbed man.
What happened?
It was morning and there was a bus driver taking the entire second grade class of Mount Carmel Academy to the Museum of Science and industry. On the way there, everything went well. No problem was reported. All the children got to the museum. In the morning, they visited most of the exhibits. In the afternoon, they all headed back into the bus and back to school. As the bus traveled through downtown, it got caught in heavy traffic. The next moment, the bus was on fire and the lives of the children were in jeopardy. It was a horrible. News of the disaster was on television. I still remember footage of the burning bus, filling the canyon of buildings with black smoke. Throughout the night, the reporters started to place all the pieces together.
As the bus driver waited for the kids to return to the bus, he had locked the windows and jammed shut the emergency exits. Then, he eat his sandwich and drink his diet coke. After he was done with his meal, he brought out a bag filled with balloons and a red container filled with gasoline. All afternoon, as the kids smiled and awed at the exhibits, he started to fill all the balloons with gasoline. When the kids marched onboard, the bus driver had given each child a balloon. He told the children that they were going to play a game, a fun game.
When the bus driver hit downtown, they were caught in a standstill. They were on the Lakeshore expressway, surround by cars. The bus driver got on the PA system and asked them if they were ready to play the game.
Yes! They all shouted, with so much excitement in their eyes.
Finally, the bus driver screamed out, "Water Balloon Fight!"
All the kids jumped and screamed. As the kids started to throw the balloons at each other, the driver watched with tearful joy. He held a match in his hand, ready to spark a flame.
A few seconds later, there was black smoke leaking from the yellow bus. It didn't take much time for the other drivers in traffic to notice that the bus was on fire. The screams of children started to filter in the sky and their was the sound of someone laughing and coughing, laughing and coughing.
Thanks to a couple of strangers, most of the children survived with sever burns. However, the ones that didn't, were buried in Graceland Cemetery. It was the same place where I heard those children singing that one day.
Ring Around The Rosie...A Pocket Full Of Posies...Ashes To Ashes...We All Fall Down.
To this day, I have never forgotten the sound of their voices.
"Don't call me a freak Captain. I'm not a freak. She would have never called me that. And you shouldn't either."
After the initial fear dissipated, hearing the dead wasn't such a big deal, anymore. He was young and his ability was something different, new, exciting. It felt like there was a radio in his ear and all he had to do was think about changing the dial to a different station and the voice would change. Each radio station lasted for about 36 hours and then the whispers were gone. He spent many times after school standing at the wall of the cemetery, recording the voice of the dead in his books.
Back then, the dead were just faint voices. They felt like echoes in his ear. It was manageable. And their stories were many.
Since then, the cemetery had always spoke to him in some way or another.
However, James did not know why he had this ability to hear the dead. Why him. He thought it had something to do with his eyes. Maybe so. Maybe not. In the end, the mysteries of ability ended up being the biggest mystery in his own life. It left a gaping hole in him the size of a fist. Without a real answer to this one question, he always felt different from other people, like an outsider, an alien, a freak.
"But, you are a freak, James. You are. There is no escaping what you are."
A few years ago, the dead felt more like imaginary friends with names that he made up along the way. In fact, the dead had an innocent glow about them, a faint glow that came from inside of their thorn-wrapped hearts. Back then, there wasn't a sense of fear in them, as there was now. The dead was different now. They weren't just voices that he could block out when he wanted to. They weren't just walking bottles of light.
However, they were something else now and he felt it every time he passed by the cemetery. Now, the light inside them was gone and only darkness remained, as if the light inside them was sucked away by some kind of malignant force.
"I know that I'm different, Captain. But, you still don't have to call me a freak."
Suddenly, James saw a flash of light out there in the cemetery and he locked his eyes on it. What James now saw through the scope of his weapon was as real as the trees rattling with the wind, as solid as the cars rolling down the street, as vivid as a flock of birds arching across the purple sky. For a moment, he tried to pretend that it did not exist. But, it did.
"What else do you call some one who hears the dead, James?" The Captain pressed the gun into the back of his shoulder and continued. "Well, I call them freaks, James."
What James saw now inside the cemetery was something completely different, something that he could not tell the Captain about. In fact, he couldn't tell anyone about it, without sounding like a complete mad man.
"There are other words for me than freak, Captain." James answered. "In Babylon, they called us star worshipers. Then, they called us spirit channelers, mediums and necromancers. I don't know what they call us now. And I don't particularly care. But, I am not freak."
Only a madman could repeat the horrific vision unfolding before him to another person and pretend that their relationship was still sane.
He wanted to tell the Captain to go no further and to turn away and never return.
Beware all who enter here.
"I don't care what you call yourself, James. I really don't. I will always see you as a freak. Now, keep looking for her. We have to find her."
James took a deep breath, as he scanned the cemetery with the crosshairs of his rifle scope. Again, he noticed a glint of light. He focused on it and spotted something out there. This time, he did not ignore it.
It was Charlene, the Captain's daughter. She was out there. He felt it and then he didn't.
Charlene wa
s trying to escape an eternal darkness. Slowly, Charlene crawled out of an open grave. She stood over it and remained hunched over, looking around for something, for someone. She looked confused and lost. Then, she spotted James and started to walk toward him. She was drawn to him. After a while, she broke into a run.
"If you don't care about catching my daughter's killer, James. Then answer me one thing."
James kept his crosshair on Charlene's chest, while the Captain pressed a pistol against the back of James's neck. With one shot, the Captain could shatter James spine.
"What, Captain?"
"If I shot you right here. Would you care if you died?"
"Yes."
"Why? Because you love my daughter."
"No. Because I will never get to know who I really am. And that's what I need to know more than anything."
"Wait! She's out there."
And He couldn't believe his eyes.
Seven
The Cemetery Whispers To Him
"Come on James. You have to try."
James perked his ears up and looked as hard as he could into the land of the forgotten. Nothing was stirring out there.
James no longer saw Calvary Cemetery in Queens, New York, as he did when he was a child, a child who took long walks with his mother, not too far away from here. The cemetery was a vast place that contained about a two million departed souls. He no longer saw a field filled with a collection of heavy stones, engraved with the names of the dead. He no longer saw a field filled with empty wooden boxes buried deep underneath the earth.
"Please Detective. I'm ordering you to make contact with her. Now"
"I'll try Captain. It's just..."
James knew that it was already too late to catch Charlene's spirt. He was sure that she was already gone through the passage of white light and into another world. But, he had no choice. He had to play the game, as long as the Captain held him there at gun point.
"It's just what, Detective?"
"It's just I never thought that I'd be back in my old neighborhood again, Captain. That's all."
"Full circle, huh?
"More like a terrible case of Déjà vu. I never wanted to come back here. Too many bad memories, Captain."
"That's how it goes sometimes, James. You can run all you want. But, you can't run away from your past either, no matter how much you try. Eventually you just end up were you started."
"Apparently, your right, Captain. But that sucks."
"Yeah, that sucks. But, that's how it goes for some people."
"Some people? You mean...people like me."
Calvary Cemetery was no longer a place that scared James when he was a young boy. It was no longer a place that whispered things to him when he walked by with his mother, hand and hand.
"Yeah. People like you, especially people like you. You're a freak, James. Don't you know that. How many times do I have to tell you? How many times did I tell Charlene that there was something wrong with you."
James ignored his taunts and thought about his past.
The first time James heard the dead he felt strange, weird, creepy. He remembered passing by this exact cemetery on his way to and from elementary school. Sometimes he would run his hand along the cemetery wall. One time, he heard the voices of children innocently playing on the other side of the wall. A school bus had caught on fire. Thank God that most of the children survived. However, the ones that didn't, were buried in Calvary Cemetery the day before. He heard the children - some of his old classmates singing 'Ring Around the Rosie.' That was the first time James heard the dead.
"Don't call me a freak Captain. I'm not a freak. Charlene would have never called me that. And you shouldn't either."
After the initial fear dissipated, hearing the dead wasn't such a big deal, anymore. He was young and his ability was something different, new, exciting. It felt like there was a radio in his ear and all he had to do was think about changing the dial to a different station and the voice would change. Each radio station lasted for about 36 hours and then the whispers were gone. He spent many times after school standing at the wall of the cemetery, recording the voice of the dead in his books.
Back then, the dead were just faint voices. They felt like echoes in his ear. It was manageable. And their stories were many.
Since then, the cemetery had always spoke to him in some way or another.
However, James did not know why he had this ability to hear the dead. Why him. He thought it had something to do with his eyes. Maybe so. Maybe not. In the end, the mysteries of ability ended up being the biggest mystery in his own life. It left a gaping hole in him the size of a fist. Without a real answer to this one question, he always felt different from other people, like an outsider, an alien, a freak.
"But, you are a freak, James. You are. There is no escaping what you are."
A few years ago, the dead felt more like imaginary friends with names that he made up along the way. In fact, the dead had an innocent glow about them, a faint glow that came from inside of their thorn-wrapped hearts. Back then, there wasn't a sense of fear in them, as there was now. The dead was different now. They weren't just voices that he could block out when he wanted to. They weren't just walking bottles of light.
However, they were something else now and he felt it every time he passed by the cemetery. Now, the light inside them was gone and only darkness remained, as if the light inside them was sucked away by some kind of malignant force.
"I know that I'm different, Captain. But, you still don't have to call me a freak."
Suddenly, James saw a flash of light out there in the cemetery and he locked his eyes on it. What James now saw through the scope of his weapon was as real as the trees rattling with the wind, as solid as the cars rolling down the street, as vivid as a flock of birds arching across the purple sky. For a moment, he tried to pretend that it did not exist. But, it did.
"What else do you call some one who hears the dead, James?" The Captain pressed the gun into the back of his shoulder and continued. "Well, I call them freaks, James."
What James saw now inside the cemetery was something completely different, something that he could not tell the Captain about. In fact, he couldn't tell anyone about it, without sounding like a complete mad man.
"There are other words for me than freak, Captain." James answered. "In Babylon, they called us star worshipers. Then, they called us spirit channelers, mediums and necromancers. I don't know what they call us now. And I don't particularly care. But, I am not freak."
Only a madman could repeat the horrific vision unfolding before him to another person and pretend that their relationship was still sane.
He wanted to tell the Captain to go no further and to turn away and never return.
Beware all who enter here.
"I don't care what you call yourself, James. I really don't. I will always see you as a freak. Now, keep looking for her. We have to find her."
James took a deep breath, as he scanned the cemetery with the crosshairs of his rifle scope. Again, he noticed a glint of light. He focused on it and spotted something out there. This time, he did not ignore it.
It was Charlene, the Captain's daughter. She was out there. He felt it and then he didn't.
Charlene was trying to escape an eternal darkness. Slowly, Charlene crawled out of an open grave. She stood over it and remained hunched over, looking around for something, for someone. She looked confused and lost. Then, she spotted James and started to walk toward him. She was drawn to him. After a while, she broke into a run.
"If you don't care about catching my daughter's killer, James. Then answer me one thing."
James kept his crosshair on Charlene's chest, while the Captain pressed a pistol against the back of James's neck. With one shot, the Captain could shatter James spine.
"What, Captain?"
"If I shot you right here. Would you care if you died?"
"Yes."
"Why? Because you love my daughter."
Eight
No Rest For The Dead
James kept his head cool, as the Captain held a gun pointed at his back and his mouth shut, as he witnessed Charlene emerge from the open grave. Her maggot covered hand shot up from the ground and she grabbed a mound of black soil to lift herself up. She stood there and her head sat lazily on her neck. She looked around, searching for a something out of desperation. Then she spotted James and sprinted toward him. The sight of her running toward him was unnatural and horrifying. But, he could not look away. Like he told the Captain, he loved her.
It can't be. It's not real, he told himself.
He wondered why she looked this way.
The usual glow of white light inside the dead was gone and replaced with an eternal darkness. It spread over her corpse like a cancer of the night. The farther Charlene got from her grave, the more decrepit and darker she became. There was a deep blackness growing inside her womb, like a small dark rift into another world. And through that world there was an ocean of tortured souls, just like her. This was the first time that James had witnessed anything like this. He thought that she had peacefully move on to the next world, like the many he had seen before. But, this was not the case.
Again, Captain Harris pressed the gun into Detective James Night's other shoulder.
"Do you hear anything, Detective? Anything at all?"
"No. Nothing."
James didn't hear a thing. It was the truth.
Instead, James saw Charlene running toward him. She moved among the finely carved tombstones, ducking under branches and jumping over graves. What came running at James was colorless, inhuman and supernatural. It was Charlene no more. She held nothing of her former self. It was the night coming alive and breaking into this world from another. She moved as if she were trying to do more than get James's attention. She was trying to escape her grave, a shallow pit.
The Dead Never Die Page 5
